I could almost feel Gabby’s side-eye through the screen as she said, “The entire relationship happened in Vegas, so for Jamie’s sake, let’s hope it doesn’t work like that.”
The three of us burst into a round of silly giggles, the kind that are less about the joke than the people you are joking with.
Finally, Nittha straightened up and sighed. “So what are you gonna do about Ethan and the video?”
“I feel like there are a couple things I need to fix before I can even think about that video or Ethan.”
“Well, don’t wait too long to figure it out. We’ve already got plane tickets.” Gabby grinned. “And know that if you decide not to do anything to fix this, we still love you, but we’ll expect you to come up with a better, more fun plan than going to that screening party.”
“Which we will fully post all over social media.” Nittha added, “With your permission of course.”
“Post away.” I waved my hand to dismiss the concern as a true smile stretched across my face for what felt like the first time in forever. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I know it’s not going to be hiding from anyone on social media or anywhere else.”
And I meant it. I just needed to tell my family first.
“That’s our girl,” Nittha said, sounding like someone’s motivational coach. “And look at it this way, at least you got to cry with the fresh laundry smell.”
“Yeah, I should go. People probably want to use this booth to try on their clothes or something.” I giggled, pushing my flyaway hairs out of my face. “Thank you, friends.”
“Feel better. We’ll be there soon.” Nittha smiled, waving Cricket’s paw at us. “Love you.”
“Please call and tell us stuff before you start crying in public next time.” Gabby laughed, then added, “And I love you, too.”
“I love you both.” I waved, then touched the End Call button, my heart feeling lighter.
Sighing, I forced myself to stand up and pushed the curtain open. Stepping out of the alterations booth, I came face to face with Dalia and a man with thinning hair. Both were staring at me as if they had been listening to every word uttered between my snotty sobs. Behind the man was a woman with very dark hair and a distinct jawline, standing next to someone who looked like her brother. They were also watching me. My face got hot as I started to think about how long I might have had an audience for my lowest moment in public.
“Just one minute,” Dalia said, holding up a hand to the man, who stepped aside and began conspicuously staring at anything other than me. Reaching for a group of shirts on a rod, she handed them to me, then held out a credit card reader so I could tap my mom’s card to pay. Pulling the reader back toward her as it began to print out a receipt, Dalia smiled up at me as she tore the piece of paper off. “You are all set.”
“Thank you.” I smiled weakly, hoping that I could convince my dad to pick up his own dry-cleaning from now on so that I would never have to see anyone in this room again. “And thank you for letting me use the, uh…” I gestured over at the little curtained box and shrugged before turning back to Dalia and finishing with, “alterations room.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.” Dalia smiled at me as if I weren’t a puffy-eyed, tear-splotchy mess. “And tell your grandma I say hi, and that she better be ready to lose a hand or two at pai gow next week.”
“Of course,” I said, mentally making a note to literally never mention this moment to my grandmother or anyone ever if Icould help it, then waved as I walked toward the door. “Have a good day.”
“You too, sweetheart. And good luck with that boy,” Dalia called as I walked out the door, the bell dinging. It was a good thing I’d made up my mind to talk to my family about Ethan already, since Dalia sounded like she would be asking BamBam and any neighbor she could find for an update on me and my business soon. I guessed it was only fair for her to gossip in exchange for my unauthorized use of the alterations room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I walked into my house,feeling the weight of my choices start to sink into my chest as I hung the dry-cleaning in the hallway closet. Talking to Gabby and Nittha made everything feel simple. But now that I was staring the whole tell-your-family-to-back-off plan in the face, execution seemed much harder.
I closed my eyes and imagined what my life would be like if I didn’t do this. Since I’d gotten home, Mom and Dad had been asking about my college applications nonstop. Dad had also arranged an extra math tutoring session so that I might notmiss a point or two on the SATs when I retook them in a few weeks. I could still hear his voice reminding me that I had to get that math score up for an economics degree. Meanwhile, Mom had examined every blurry photo of me that BamBam had taken and declared that I needed to go shopping for summer clothes so I wouldn’t have to borrow any more of Gabby’s “Florida wardrobe,” whatever that meant.
Nope, I couldn’t do the rest of my life avoiding Florida clothes and obsessing over math. This might be hard, but the alternative was decidedly worse. Slipping my shoes off, I caught sight of myself in the closet mirror and paused. This would probably go over better with my parents if I weren’t wearing a pair of my brother’s oversized sweats…
Also, nope. I wasn’t going to do a complete wardrobe change for this conversation. I trudged toward the family room, where my parents were sitting on opposite ends of a cream-colored couch working on their devices. Our family room had an East-Coast-beach-house vibe to it that I was pretty sure my mom had ordered entirely from a Pottery Barn catalog, including seashells on stands. Mom’s friends envied the room, which I guess made up for the fact that my family had never been anywhere near Cape Cod.
Neither of my parents looked up when I came in, so I tried walking around to stand in front of the perfect sea-blue ottoman that rested between the couch and the TV. Unable to bear the pressure any longer, I cleared my throat. “Mom? Dad?”
My dad glanced up from his tablet, then blinked. Mom finished typing something on her laptop, smirking as she tapped her touchpad, then took off her reading glasses and flinched. Maybe I should have changed clothes.
“Yes, Jamie?” Dad prompted, eyeing his tablet.
“I have to tell you something.” I shuffled my feet on the rug, trying to figure out where to start. My stomach twisted and untwisted itself in knots as the muscles in my neck tensed. I thought about yellingJust kiddingand running back to myroom before I could pass out from the stress, but then changed my mind. I took a deep breath, then said, “I do not want a business degree.”
“That’s fine. What do you want to do? Study architecture?” Dad waved his hand as if this wasn’t worth the dramatic announcement, then picked up his device. Turning to Mom, he said, “I didn’t think she liked that summer program last year.”
“No, I don’t want to be an architect or an economist.” I cut in before my dad could digress any further. After exhaling slowly, I forced the words out of my mouth. “…I want to study film.”
